


let me be empty

by SailorSol, wildforce71



Series: Powers 'Verse [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coitus Interruptus, Dubious Consent, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSol/pseuds/SailorSol, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildforce71/pseuds/wildforce71
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many kinds of addictions. This is just another one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to wildforce71 for the prompt, encouragment, and letting me play in her sandbox. This is apart from main Powers continuity, someplace after d'Artagnan has earned his commission.
> 
> Title from Sarah McClauchlin.

“Trust me,” the woman says. She brushes a strand of hair from his face, and it’s all he can focus on. Her fingers are warm and gentle, just like her voice, and he can’t think of any reason not to trust her.

Except...

Except what? He’s lying on something comfortable, and he doesn’t hurt anywhere. He’s that same sort of fuzzy he gets after just waking up safe in his own bed.

So why shouldn’t he trust her?

“That’s good,” she says. Her breath is warm against his ear. It tickles, just a little, but his arm is too heavy to brush it away. “Nothing to worry about, see?”

She knew he’d been worried, and she was reassuring him. That was good, right? That meant... something, but his brain felt as heavy as his arm.

“I bet you’ve missed this, haven’t you?” she continues. She sounds like she’s almost amused, like he’s a petulant child. “But I know exactly what you need.” She hums, tunelessly, and takes one of his hands into hers. Her thumbs press into the palm, working out what little tension remains. He feels her nails press into the meaty part of his thumb as she squeezes. There’s a moaning noise which he realizes came from him. “See?” she says, her breath like butterflies on his cheek.

Other than her steady humming and even cadence, everything is quiet. There’s a heavy, woody smell in the air with just a hint of something sharper. He doesn’t have a name for it, but he doesn’t have a name for much of anything right now. It’s like he’s floating, though he can feel the rough texture of blankets under him against bare skin.

“Do you remember the last time you were here?” she asks. He wants to tell her he doesn’t remember anything, but it only comes out as another moan. The thought bothers him for a moment, but then it flits away as her hands stroke up and down his chest, up and down, up and down, in time with his heart and his breathing. “You’d been gone for so long, you were practically shaking when you came in. I told you not to wait so long. I’m glad you listened to me this time.”

This time. There was something wrong about that, some reason... He wasn’t supposed to be here, was he? Trying to push past the fog in his head was exhausting, but there were images starting to come back. Noise and pain, every muscle in his body tight and cramping...

“Relax,” she says. “You’re getting tense again.” When she starts singing, a thousand bright lights flare inside his head, blotting out any other thoughts. “There’s a good boy,” she croons. “So well behaved, aren’t you? I think you deserve a reward.”

Her hand traces up and down, up and down, up and down again, until it doesn’t come up, just keeps sliding further down until he’s moaning again. Her touch seems to spread warmth through his entire body, pooling low in his stomach. There’s a pressure building, slow and steady, and it becomes his single point of focus until--

Until her hands are gone and her humming has stopped and there are other voices. They’re deeper than hers, and grate on him like metal scraping metal. New hands, rough hands, take him by the shoulders, and heavy, hot fabric is draped over him. She says something, too far away for him to hear, but her words are like a cool summer rain and he remembers, he remembers that he can trust her.

One of the new voices says something; it sounds urgent, but nothing is urgent here, not even that pressure that’s now fading quicker than it had been building. The world tilts around him as he’s shifted upright. The hair is pushed from his face again, but it doesn’t feel the same, and the floating feeling is gone. Other feelings are starting to creep in, feelings he doesn’t have words for.

There’s a roaring in his ears like water crashing over the side of a cliff, and his chest feels like it’s being crushed and everything hurts, there’s too much noise. He tries to twist away from the arms holding him down, to no avail.

“d’Artagnan!”

The single word breaks through, sharp and clear, above everything else. It’s familiar, and so is the voice, though he can’t hear the woman at all any more.

“--wrong?”

“Some--bility--drugged.”

He only catches snatches of words over the roaring, but as they continue, the voices sound clearer, more familiar, and the touch feels less foreign.

“Good, d’Art--breaths--”

It’s easier not to fight things, so he follows the rhythm being set for him, in and out, in and out, but everything is too noisy. His mouth finally works enough that he gets out a single word. “Loud.”

One word gets back through to him: “Shields.”

It’s one of the hardest things he can remember doing, but some visceral part of him knows it’s necessary. The noise lessens gradually, and there’s room enough in his head for other things to start coming in.

“Good, good,” the voice says from just behind him. “There you go.”

“‘mis?” he mumbles. He flinches at the relief that comes from behind him, sharp and bright.

“Yeah, it’s me. Porthos and Athos are here too. Feeling better?”

No. How could this possibly feel better than before? But he knew the others had no way of understanding. “Fine.”

There's a moment of tense silence--his shields aren't up enough to not notice, and he rarely blocks these three out anyway--before Athos clears his throat. "Give us a moment," he tells Aramis and Porthos.

"You okay to sit up on your own?" Aramis asks d'Artagnan. He responds by leaning forward enough for Aramis to climb out from where he'd been propping him up from behind.

The blankets are rough, but d'Artagnan wraps one around himself. He's not cold, precisely; more that Athos is being unsettling and difficult to read as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"We were worried about you," Athos says, once they're alone. "You didn't show up for practice this morning, and then you were still missing when we had duty."

Oh. He hadn't realized he'd been gone that long. "Sorry," he says by rote. His own emotions still feel flat and distant.

Athos peers at him for too long before speaking again. "How many times have you come here?"

There's no reason to lie. "This was my third."

Silence again, but that's not much of a surprise with Athos. "D'Artagnan..." He grimaces, looks away. "Madame Delphine is...known...for her particular talents."

d'Artagnan shifts. "Talents?"

"I think you know what I'm talking about." He sighs. "You're a grown man, d'Artagnan. I can't tell you what you can and can't do with your time. But when it starts interfering with your duties, I can't ignore it any more. And as your friend, I would like to think you'd learn from my mistakes."

"And which mistakes are those?"

"Drowning yourself in addiction. You've been here six times in the last two months."

D'Artagnan blinks. "I've only been here three times. I'm not lying to you."

Athos frowns. "That...damn it, d'Artagnan..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Delphine works for the cardinal. Were you aware of that?" He wasn't. Lead settled heavy into his stomach. "She uses her Abilities, deceives people, draws them into her web."

"Can I get dressed now?" D'Artagnan asks.

Athos sighs again. "Yes."

His clothes are folded on a nearby chair. They smell like liquor and sex. He puts them on anyway, ignoring Athos' searching gaze. "I'll go speak with the captain."

"You can speak with him later. I want Aramis to take another look at you."

"I'm not injured," he argues. "I feel fine."

"You feel fine now," Athos agrees. "I doubt you'll feel fine in a few hours when whatever she did to you starts to wear off."

D'Artagnan shrugs, but he knows he's not going to win this argument. And judging by the way Athos is still closed off, this conversation isn't finished. But for now, they're going to pretend like things are okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two sides to every story...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SailorSol kindly let me write the other side of the story. Thanks, SailorSol!

“Madame Delphine.”

Athos grimaces. Luck and Aramis’ charm and Porthos’ fists have brought them this far, but if d’Artagnan has gone to Madame Delphine…

“What do we do?” Aramis asks, watching him.

Athos shakes his head. There’s no real question about it. “We go in.”

“He’ll have gone in willingly,” Porthos points out, devil’s advocate to make sure Athos has thought this through.

“He’s late for duty, we have every right to go in after him. And even if he went in willingly, he may not be staying willingly. You know that.” Madame Delphine is an open secret in parts of Paris; she’s well known in the Court, maybe better there than anywhere. Madame Delphine can make anything better. A visit with her will take away hunger, pain, fear.

For a time.

Until it wears off.

Men have committed murder to get back to Madame Delphine. She’s one of the Cardinal’s better weapons.

“We go in,” Athos says, and the others nod.

There’s little resistance. Madame Delphine maintains the pretence that she runs a salon, not a brothel, so there’s only one guard. He is quickly dealt with, and one of the women obligingly points them to Madame Delphine’s room. Aramis describes d’Artagnan and the woman agrees that he’s with Madame Delphine again.

“Again?” Athos asks.

“This is his sixth visit.”

 _Six_. Athos looks at Porthos, who shakes his head grimly. d’Artagnan is addicted to whatever she’s doing, or well on the way.

“I may be able to help,” Aramis murmurs.

“You didn’t know anything was wrong,” Athos points out, flat and non-accusatory.

“It isn’t always something wrong. Sometimes it’s just not something right,” Porthos tells them. “Aramis might be able to help, but he won’t until we get in there.”

“Yes. Let’s go,” Athos agrees.

The door’s not even locked. Athos goes in first. For a moment he can’t focus, but eventually the shapes in front of him resolve into d’Artagnan, sprawled bonelessly across the bed, and Madame Delphine, hovering over him. _Touching_ him. d’Artagnan barely seems aware of her; he’s reacting to the touch, but there’s no emotion behind it.

Porthos pulls her away from d’Artagnan; she doesn’t resist, looking amused. Athos pulls off his cloak, draping it over d’Artagnan.

“He’s not hurt,” Madame Delphine says, still amused. “He’s here willingly.”

“d’Artagnan, can you hear me?” Aramis asks. d’Artagnan doesn’t seem to hear it; he’s not focusing right, gazing past them. Athos shakes his head, gripping his shoulders to raise him enough for Aramis to slide in behind him, arms wrapping around him to keep him upright.

If he brushes d’Artagnan’s hair back as he lets go, he knows that Aramis will not draw attention to it.

It seems to trigger something. d’Artagnan shifts, uneasy, and continues moving, trying to escape Aramis’ grip. He’s completely uncoordinated, and he seems to have no strength at all; Aramis can hold him easily enough, but he’s only growing more distressed.

“d’Artagnan, please, you must - d’Artagnan!”

“What’s wrong with him?” Athos asks, staying close enough to help if he’s needed. Porthos has bundled Madame Delphine out and is standing by the door to make sure no one tries to come in.

Aramis shakes his head. “Something with his Ability - he’s been drugged, I’m clearing that now.”

“Something dangerous?”

“Some kind of sedative, I think. Not enough to make him sleep, but enough to make him -”

“Easy to handle?” Porthos suggests grimly.

Aramis nods. “Good, d’Artagnan, that’s good. Deep breaths, you’re doing well.” He has a hand pressed to d’Artagnan’s chest, over the cloak, trying to get him to breathe in rhythm; d’Artagnan’s responding, slowly. “In, and out, in, and out, good, d’Artagnan, in, and out…”

d’Artagnan’s mouth moves for perhaps half a minute before he whimpers “ _Loud_.”

Aramis closes his eyes briefly, but his voice is steady. “You must shield, d’Artagnan, do you understand? Shields. Find your shields.”

Whether he hears it or not, d’Artagnan starts to calm. Aramis prompts him quietly, still guiding his breathing, encouraging him to _shield_ and _calm_ and _be easy, we’re here._ Athos watches, frowning.

“Good,” Aramis says eventually, “good. There you go.”

“ ‘mis?” d’Artagnan mumbles. His own voice seems to surprise him; he flinches at the sound.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Aramis says, relief in his voice. “Porthos and Athos are here too. Feeling better?”

“Yes.” It’s a clear lie.

Aramis looks up to catch Athos’ eye. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. “Give us a moment.”

Aramis murmurs to d’Artagnan. He shifts upright, letting Aramis slide out; he reaches for a blanket as the others leave, wrapping it around himself like a shield. Athos sits. d’Artagnan is tense and closed off, hunched in on himself.

“We were worried about you,” Athos tells him. “You didn’t show up for practise this morning, and then you were still missing when we had duty.”

“Sorry,” d’Artagnan says, but there’s no emotion behind it.

Athos studies him for a long time. d’Artagnan’s still avoiding his gaze, staring blankly towards the floor. Is it possible - “How many times have you come here?”

“This was my third.”

Wrong, but not a lie. Madame Delphine has already been altering him, working on him. “d’Artagnan…” How can he… “Madame Delphine is...known...for her particular talents.” And if they’d talked more about d’Artagnan’s Ability, about Abilities in general, perhaps he’d know this already. Athos vows, again, that he _will_ make time for this discussion. It’s easy to avoid when it makes d’Artagnan uncomfortable, but they do need to do it.

d’Artagnan shifts a little, clearly uncomfortable. “Talents?”

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You’re a grown man, d’Artagnan -” _Not Thomas, not a brother, not Athos’ fault if he falls._ “- I can’t tell you what you can and can’t do with your time. But when it starts interfering with your duties, I can’t ignore it any more. And as your friend, I would like to think you’d learn from my mistakes.”

“And which mistakes are those?” Surprisingly confrontational, for d’Artagnan, but it only proves that they need to talk about this.

“Drowning yourself in addiction. You’ve been here six times in the last two months.”

d’Artagnan blinks, meeting his gaze for the first time. “I’ve only been here three times. I’m not lying to you.”

“That - _damn_ it, d’Artagnan. Delphine works for the Cardinal. Were you aware of that?” He hadn’t been, if his expression is anything to go by, and Athos thinks he’s still too far gone to hide the way he normally does. “She uses her Abilities, deceives people, draws them into her web.” _People like you,_ he doesn’t say, _for the Cardinal to use and discard._

d’Artagnan is silent for a moment. “Can I get dressed now?”

Athos sighs, but if it helps him center himself - “Yes.”

d’Artagnan is a little shaky, but he dresses himself without problem. “I’ll go speak with the captain.”

“You can speak with him later.” Treville, angry in public and worried in private, will wait for Athos’ report before he does anything anyway. “I want Aramis to take another look at you.”

“I’m not injured. I feel fine.”

Athos does not point out how pale he is, the fine tremors still running through him, the way he’s holding the chair back to stay upright. “You feel fine now. I doubt you’ll feel fine in a few hours when whatever she did to you starts to wear off.” _Tell us what she did, d’Artagnan, let us_ help _you…_

d’Artagnan only shrugs, looking away. Athos sighs, rising to summon the others back in. Pushing won’t help right now, he knows. But they will finish this conversation later.

He calls Aramis in and settles in to wait.


End file.
